The kid had started eating before the bartender could even set the damn plate down on the counter.

He looked like so many others that were on the Grand Line these days: small, scrawny, patched clothes and a mop of hair that hadn’t been brushed in days and hadn’t been cut for longer. Probably hasn’t eaten in a while, the old bartender thought, watching the way the kid plowed through the meal in front of him. But that didn’t keep his eyes from wandering all over the pub, staring at the customers, the chairs, the booths and the mirror behind the bar with equal curiosity. The framed bounty posters covering the walls seemed to excite him the most.

“Oi, ossan,” he called, shoveling food into his mouth. “That’s a neat collection you’ve got.”

The old man shoved a bottle of rum back onto its shelf and glanced in the direction the boy was pointing. “Oh, my bounty collection,” he grunted, slinging a dishtowel over his shoulder. “I’ve been saving those since before Gold D. Roger went sailing on the Grand Line.”

“You’re old, ossan!” the boy said around a mouthful of rice, obviously impressed. “Do you have any really famous ones?”

“Sure. I’ve got pirates of all shapes and sorts on these walls, but only the big fish get to hang here,” he said, coming out from behind the bar and gesturing to the east wall. He pointed to an even row of frames at eye-level. “I’ve got the Shichibukai, the Yonkou, most of the supernovas and their crews. I’ve even managed to lay hands on Monkey D. Luffy’s original bounty, back when his head was only worth thirty million.”

The kid swallowed and let his fork fall on the plate with a clatter. “Is it hard to get?”

“Sure. Worth a lot of money, too.”

That seemed to amuse the hell out of the kid. He chuckled and ran a long finger over the tattooed “x” on his left arm, grinning like an idiot. Then he slammed a knotty fist on the counter and demanded more food.

“You a sailor, kid?” the bartender muttered, placing another plate in front of him.

The grin widened. “Sure, ossan. I sail.”

The old man watched him eat for a while. “You’ve come a fair way down the Grand Line for a young one,” he said. “Run across a few pirates on your travels, have you?”

The skin under the boy’s eye puckered around an old scar as he smiled. “A few.”

“Well, be glad you didn’t meet any of those fellows,” he said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the eastern wall. “Most would tear you apart as soon as look at you.”

The boy shrugged and rested an arm on the counter, his plate empty once again. “Ossan, you just have to make sure they can’t tear you apart.”

“Eh?” the old man mumbled, cocking his head. “What do you mean?” But the boy was already up and out of his chair, running over to the eastern wall to look at the bounties more closely.

“Heehee! You’ve still got Sanji’s old poster!” he said, pointing to bounty above his head with a crude sketch of a blonde man smoking a cigarette on it.

“Black Leg Sanji?” the old man asked, craning his neck to get a good look at the bounty the kid was pointing at. “He’s a Strawhat. That crew is full of monsters, and he’s one of the worst.”

“Nah, he’s not that bad,” said the boy, shaking his head. “He hates that picture, though.”

“You talk like you know him, kid.”

“I do.”

The pub’s swinging door creaked on its hinges, and the floor groaned underneath the weight of heavy feet.

“Oi, Captain,” said a deep voice. “The log pose is reset. We’re ready to go.”

The old bartender’s head swung around to greet the new customer, but he was distracted by the haramaki slung around the man’s waist and the weapons that hung there.

“Th-three katanas…” he muttered, his throat going dry. There was only one man in the world who carried three katanas like that. And there was only one man in the world that a monster like Roronoa Zoro would call captain.

Monkey D—

“Yatta!” the boy yelled, bounding towards the door, his face nearly split in two by an enormous grin. “Thanks for the meal, ossan!”

“—Luffy,” he breathed, his old hands quivering against the countertop.

“Did he settle up with you?”

“What?” The old man tore his eyes away from the swinging doors of the pub and cowered underneath the pirate hunter’s hard stare. “N-no!” he yelped, holding his hands out in front of him. “No! It’s really no trouble! On the house! Just—just, please…”

The swordsman raised an eyebrow and reached into his haramaki. “Nice place,” he said quietly, looking at the frames on the walls. “Captain seems to like it.” He drew out a bundle of money, laid it on the counter in front of the bartender, and walked out after his companion, leaving the old man to finger the bills and stare at the frames on the eastern wall.

A/N: Just wanted to make it clear that Luffy is a young man in this story, not a child, but he's a "kid" from the old man's point of view. Sorry about the confusion.